


The End of All Things (And The Beginning of Something New)

by theshippingprince



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Accidental meeting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Found Family, Healing Through Past Trauma Together, High school teachers AU, M/M, Meeting Exactly The Right Person You're Meant to Meet Exactly When You're Meant To Meet Them, There's also a car crash if you're not into that! And mentioned death!, This was meant to be for the Reddie Big Bang but I fully didn't finish it in time (thanks COVID)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26022568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshippingprince/pseuds/theshippingprince
Summary: When Eddie Kaspbrak gets a phone call from his friend in the middle of the night summoning him to the hospital, he meets a strange, almost broken husk of a man who changes his life. Expecting to never see him again, he is in for a shock when the very same man turns up as a substitute at the school where Eddie is a teacher. To make matters worse, this Richie Tozier, or whoever he really is, claims he has never met Eddie in his life -- a fact that Eddie is determined to get to the bottom of.Following the somewhat slow paced, melancholy, bittersweet lives of seven teachers and their makeshift family dynamic, as they grow and adapt to a new era of their lives.
Relationships: Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Taya (the Richie to my Eddie).
> 
> Pennywise is the principal of the school the losers work at. There's no supernatural business, he's just an asshole. That is all.

_ “He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” - Emily Brontë _

Eddie Kaspbrak woke with a start at the sound of his cell-phone buzzing. Delirious from sleep, he grumbled incomprehensibly, shuffling about in his sheets out of frustration as he was pulled into the bare minimum of consciousness. It was a surprising sound; there was hardly ever a time when his phone wasn’t on Do Not Disturb, and the people whose numbers he let bypass that numbered less than what he could count on two hands.  _ Minuscule _ . After all, the people on that list knew better than to call him. He was very much a texting kind of guy. End of story. 

He shuffled in the darkness, stumbling his hand across his bedside table until he located the device. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes as he pressed it to his cheek.

“What.”

“Eddie, oh thank god,” blurted the response, loudly awake and severely conscious. Stan Uris. “I’ve been trying Bill, Mike, Bev, Ben —“ he paused for a moment, distracted, “all our friends, well most of our friends, all their names begin with B, have you ever thought of that? Huh, I’ve never thought of that,” He was spacey, erratic, and nervous to top, a Stan the Man rarity. Eddie immediately sat upright, forcing his eyes open.

What a mess.

A hair care infomercial was playing in his bedroom and numerous ungraded homework assignments lay in crumpled piles around him. It seemed he had switched off his bedroom light but hadn't found the strength to do much else.

Eddie sighed.

“Stan, is something wrong?”

“Oh, right, sorry,” Stan mumbled, “I’ve been up for the last thirty-something hours, I’m not at full functioning capacity. Nobody’s picking up.”

Eddie glanced at his bedside clock, red numbers glaring back at him. “It’s nearly four-thirty.”

“Right.”

A pause. Something twisted in Eddie’s gut. Stan never called anyone unless it was important. And if he was going to call anyone, it was going to be Bill. After accidentally staining his wedding suit with olive oil and vinegar (a long story), he had called Bill in a frantic tone. After losing the reservations to the place he had met his wife on their second anniversary, he had called Bill in the same sort of manner he was speaking with to Eddie now. Eddie hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he could live up to those expectations.

“Are you okay? You’re scaring me.”

Stan’s breath sounded ragged and tinny on the other line. “No, I don’t think I am.”

Eddie got out of bed, pinching his phone between his shoulder and his ear. His brain seemed to be moving in slow motion. He didn’t know what to grab. Car keys, probably? Maybe a sweatshirt? Did Stan need something? Food, perhaps. A change of clothes, too.

“It’s going to be okay. Just tell me where you are.” Eddie shoved his socks on, and slipped into a pair of ratty sneakers, “I’ll come to you.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” said Stan quietly. Eddie could practically hear Stan’s eyes close over the phone, an exhausted look passing over his features. It made him look deflated. Older.

“I’ll be on my way shortly. Just tell me where you are.”

Stan sighed over the line. Eddie grabbed a coat, stumbling about in the near darkness of his apartment to pick up the ring of keys on his kitchen counter, leftover stir-fry from last night’s dinner in a plastic tupperware, and a couple teabags from the cupboard.

“The hospital. Patricia’s in labor.”

“Oh!” Eddie stopped in the middle of his apartment and looked back at his phone. The blurry image of Stan’s disgruntled profile picture frowned at him from behind the call’s timecode. “Congratulations?”

“Yeah,” mumbled Stan. “Something like that.”

Not an ideal response. He grabbed an extra college sweatshirt from his dresser. It was one of the most comfortable articles of clothing he owned, loved threadbare. It wasn’t a great comfort item, but it was going to have to be enough.

Someone spoke in a mumbled tone over the loudspeaker in the hospital. Eddie bit his lip. 

“I’ll be there soon. And Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to breathe.”

* * *

It hadn’t been very difficult to find Stan. The man was hunched and weathered looking, exhausted beyond belief. He stuck out against a sea of happy, sleepy parents, bubbling newborns, and general excitement of new life in the world. He looked like he needed to smoke a pack of cigarettes as he fiddled with his lighter, snapping it open and closed repeatedly.

It was a miracle the nurses eyeing him with distaste hadn’t taken it away from him yet.

Perhaps they simply forgot about him after kicking him out of the hospital room for the C-Section.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to get you anything?” Eddie asked, for what felt like the hundredth in the ten minutes since he had arrived at the hospital. He jiggled his knee in an anxious manner, and wondered what Bill would have done in his place.

“No, I’m fine,” replied Stan. Eddie could barely see his face under the curly flop of hair that slumped forward as he leaned his elbows on his knees. The plastic chair creaked uncomfortably under his weight with every slight movement. “You really didn’t need to come here, honest. I was just.” Stan hesitated. “I don’t know. It was a moment of weakness. You really can go home. I know you have to get up early.”

Eddie wondered if Stan would have told Bill to go home. Probably not.

Eddie grimaced slightly before gently resting his hand against Stan’s shoulder. Stan’s posture shifted slightly. Stiffer. It was an attempt to be comforting, but it felt awkward. There wasn’t really much more he could do. The man was dressed in hospital scrubs loaned to him for safety reasons. He couldn’t simply shove Eddie’s college sweatshirt overtop, or eat a container full of cold noodles. One of the first things he had done when he had seen Eddie was hand him all of his belongings, getting rid of everything he had been forced to discard. His clothes, some mostly finished snacks.

“It’s okay, I’m going to be here. I’m going to stay with you.”

Stan sat slightly more upright, and glanced over at Eddie. “Well then, I’m not sure if I’m going to remember to call into work tomorrow, to let them know that I won’t be able to come in and teach. Could you do that for me?”

“Of course.”

Stan stared at Eddie for a long moment, lips slightly parted as though there was something else he wanted to say, he wanted to get off his chest. His sunken eyes were bloodshot, and the bags beneath them seemed darker, more defined in the terrible hospital fluorescents. It suddenly hit Eddie how long they had known each other, how long they had been teaching together, working alongside each other, irritating each other with nonsense. How little Eddie truly knew about Stan as a person, how far apart they really were without Bill, without the others. It felt like just yesterday Eddie was introducing himself to a confident yet inexperienced college grad with a sarcastic look plastered to his face. Ten years had gone by so quickly, and now everything felt like it was going to change. Everything was going to change for good.

“Eddie, I—“ Stan started, only to be cut off by one of the nurses, who beckoned him into Patricia’s room with a hasty  _ We’re ready for you _ . “I have to go. Here.”

He handed Eddie the lighter before jumping to his feet, joints cracking ever so slightly as he sped into the room. The muffled cries of a woman in anguish could be heard from within as the door shut quietly. Eddie glanced down at the lighter itself. It was gold and unscuffed, with the inscription  _ To Stan, With All My Love, P _ . It was clearly something he cared about. His wife was clearly someone he cared about.

Eddie wondered why Stan was so hesitant, such an opposite to all the happy families around him. He was going to be a dad, a parent. He was going to mold someone into the world, and they were going to be magnificent. Eddie was certain of it. With a dad like Stan, what could possibly go wrong?

He was one of the most beloved teachers at school. And not in a weird adolescent obsession sort of way either (“Thank goodness for that,” Stan had muttered under his breath during a meeting). When students meandered into Mr Kaspbrak’s chemistry class, he often overheard the mumbles of what Mr Uris had been passionately proclaiming. Sure, he wasn’t the easiest teacher in the world, with his harsh specifics in classic melodies. Eddie could hear through the wall they shared: stuttered notes, played and halted and repeated until they were perfected. Students had to work for their A, but Eddie had never met a student who wasn’t entirely invested in what Mr Uris had to say.

There had even been an uproar when it had come out that he would have to go on paternity leave in the near future. Bill pointed out one night over a group dinner that Stan’s classes had gotten together to buy him a card and a rather expensive bottle of wine, fairly impressive for underage high schoolers. Stan had had to pretend to be upset with their gift, but he was secretly pleased.

Eddie checked his phone. It wasn’t even five in the morning yet. He tried to call Bill again, but the call wouldn’t go through. The service in the hospital was atrocious, something so ridiculous that Eddie almost felt like laughing. Slinging his and Stan’s bags over his shoulder, he meandered through the halls, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum, until he stepped into the driveway where the ambulances usually pulled up. It was deserted, apart from a slumped bench tucked into a corner of the building. A brief moment of calm. Eddie took a seat.

He called Bill. This time the call went through, but there was no response.

Figures. Sleeping Beauty was still knocked unconscious. He didn’t bother to leave a message. Chances were that Stan had already asked Bill to call him back. Eddie would just have to act as a secretary when he did.

He watched from a distance as a young nurse yawned as she got out of her car, clutching a reusable Starbucks cup close to her chest before heading in the direction of the ER with shuffled steps.

Eddie wasn’t sure how long he sat in near darkness, looking out into the half-developed, barely conscious world in front of him. The sky was just starting to turn that grey-purple it always did in the mornings, a yawn of color. He remembered it from his childhood, waking up early for a moment of peace before his mother pulled herself into consciousness. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched the swatches of color shift within themselves.

Eddie took a deep breath, held it, released it slowly. It was just barely cold enough, barely early enough, that the wisps of white air curled from between his teeth. He was just about to get up and head back inside when the double doors opened, and he watched as a striking man slumped out.

He seemed to be limping slightly, but he didn’t seem on the verge of collapsing. He glanced towards the bench before pulling himself down upon it in a barely stitched together heap.

He was an odd looking character, dressed in a hospital gown, the thin white material dotted with grainy designs, but with a dark, frumpy sweater pulled over top, and ripped jeans tucked underneath. He was even wearing the cheap fuzzy socks the hospital gave out under a classy pair of oxfords. His glasses, perched crookedly on his nose, were broken, pieces chipping out of the frames in uneven shards. Eddie felt anxious for the man’s eyesight just looking at him. His mop of black hair curled forwards over his features as he looked through his pockets for something: a cigarette. Hands shaking, he placed it between his teeth, between his chapped, broken lips before he continued searching for something to light it.

He searched with a frenzy until a strangled sort of sound pushed out from the empty cavern of his chest, up his throat, and out of his mouth, against his will.

Eddie pulled Stan’s lighter out of his pocket and flicked the flame into existence, covering it from the wind with his other hand as he leaned towards the other man.

The stranger turned to face Eddie, his eyes flicking up to meet Eddie’s for a split second before he focused on the flame. There was the slight twinge of burning paper, and he leaned back, pressing his head against the slick concrete behind him.

There was a long moment, the stranger holding his breath in careful consideration before he exhaled, the smell making Eddie wrinkle his nose.

“Thank you,” said the bespectacled stranger.

“No problem,” said Eddie.

They sat in silence as the stranger smoked. Eddie didn’t get up out of his seat; there didn’t seem to be any reason to now. The crinkle of burning paper, and the sharp inhale seemed to be the only sound that perforated the early morning air. The cigarette seemed to give the man a sense of ease, of calm, and his shoulders seemed to un-pinch themselves, his posture growing more slack. 

“Who’s P?” said the stranger, turning to look over at Eddie.

“I’m sorry?”

“P,” the man said, gesturing to the lighter still clutched in his hands. “Your wife?”

Eddie glanced down at the lighter, confused.  _ Oh _ . Patty’s inscription for Stan.

“No, not my wife. P, Patricia, my friend’s wife. I’m just holding onto all his shit. His stuff. He’s still inside.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. She’s in labor. I’m here for emotional support.”

“Congratulations. To your friend.”

“I’ll tell him.”

The stranger chuckled. “You’re a very dedicated friend. It’s very early to be here for emotional support.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Eddie sighed softly, feeling a strange sensation come over him. Perhaps it was the hour, or the comforting presence of a laid-back individual, a stranger that Eddie would never see again but, he felt as though he wanted to just say what he was feeling with no regrets.

“I really don’t know what I’m doing here, if I’m going to be completely honest,” Eddie started after a long moment.

He watched as the stranger turned to face him, pulling a foot up on the bench and leaning his elbow against it in a strangely adolescent manner. He held the cigarette between his fingers as he stared at Eddie through the chipped glasses. “How so?”

“I got a call in the middle of the night, and I just grabbed as much stuff as I could, and just left. I don’t know, there was such a desperation in his voice, in Stan’s voice. I couldn’t take it, I just knew I had to be here but, I feel so out of place now.”

“I take it, you’re close with this guy? Stan?”

“Not really. I mean, I know him, I’ve known him for years but, I don’t think we’ve ever spent time alone together. It’s always with other people, in a big group outing or at meetings. I wasn’t the first person he called. Just the only one who picked up.”

Eddie glanced at the man’s hands as he spoke, too anxious to look him in the eyes. It felt too personal, too close to make eye contact while he vomited out his heart on a silver platter. Even if this man was a stranger and he was never going to see him again. They were bandaged, from his wrists all the way up to the knuckles, and the bandages were tinged only slightly red from the blood underneath, some of his fingers bruised a faint purple. Eddie wondered what had happened to the man to cause such a visceral mess.

“Well, why do you think he was calling? If my hypothetical wife was giving birth to my child, I feel like I would be over the moon.”

That was a fair question, something that Eddie had been trying not to think about. What could Stan, one of the most beloved teachers at their school, have to worry about? Was it not his child, had something happened that Eddie had never heard about? Did Bill know? Subconsciously, Eddie brought his forefinger to his lips and began to bite away a hangnail. What was he getting himself into?

“Hey man,” the stranger said, cutting into his thoughts, waving a thin hand in front of Eddie’s face, “Have you thought about talking to him? Asking him what’s going on?”

Eddie stared at him. He hadn’t. It had always felt custom to talk around the problem, whatever it was, and Eddie was good at that. After all, it felt as though it was not something that Stan wanted to discuss. It was something that Eddie had to wait for, instead of asking him right out of the gate.

The stranger took another drag of his cigarette. “Sometimes people who seem strong need to be asked twice if they’re okay. They’ll lie to you at first, and then as soon as you ask them again, wham, the truth is out there. They just needed a push. I know so many friends who would prefer to forget their problems, to pretend they’re nonexistent, rather than face them. They just need a little help to deal with it all, someone to listen. Someone to hold their hand through it all.”

“Yeah,” said Eddie. There was nothing else he could think of to say.

“You never know when someone will be gone, and you’ll never be able to ask twice if they were ever okay.”

Eddie watched as the man tapped his cigarette against the bench, letting the ash drift down towards the ground. He leaned his head back against the brick, and slowly lifted his leg, adjusting it slightly, before lowering it back down to the ground with a hiss clenched between his teeth. Clearly this man was injured. Eddie wondered if he was even allowed to be out here, if he was allowed to be smoking. He decided it was none of his business.

He thought of Stan, of everything in Stan’s posture back in the hospital that said he wasn’t okay, everything in his body language, the desperation of the call in the middle of the night, the quiet surprise that Eddie had picked up (of all people). It wasn’t too late. Eddie could say something to Stan. He could go back in there and help him, whatever that meant. Vulnerability and all that.

Before he knew what he was doing, Eddie found himself getting to his feet. He needed to go back to Stan, to actually talk to him, to question what was going on, to help. This man, this strange, fragile, nearly broken man was right. He needed to, before it was too late.

He almost crossed through the sliding, automatic doors of the hospital when he paused, and glanced back at the man seated on the bench. His eyes were closed, face stoic in a tight sort of way in what Eddie could only imagine was an expression of some degree of pain.

“Hey,” Eddie said, just loud enough to catch the man’s attention, “thank you. I really needed that tonight.”

The man nodded, his fractured glasses sparkling in the neon ER sign somewhere above them. There was no warmth in his dark eyes but, there was a sense of knowing. A painful desire to fix what he had wronged, in whatever way he could. 

“Thank you for the light.”

And with that, Eddie took off back into the building, Stan the only person on his mind.

* * *

It was another twenty minutes before the nurses pushed Stan out of the room again. By that time, Eddie had been told to stop pacing twice by passing nurses but, had found himself incapable. He was concerned he was going to lose his nerve, and not be able to talk to Stan the way he knew he needed to. But, eventually, what seemed like hours later, Stan stumbled out of the room, looking a little worse for wear. The smile that seemed to be pasted upon his face became a deflated, expressionless mess, and he almost didn’t seem to see Eddie as he collapsed in a plastic chair.

“Everything alright?” started Eddie.

“There was another complication. I don’t know, I can’t remember,” Stan ran his hands through his hair, ending by placing his palms against his closed eyes.

Eddie sat down beside him, and looked at the wall across the hallway. It was covered in flyers, informational sessions for this or for that. Happy families smiled at each other, babies cooed in the arms of beaming mothers.

“Stan, why did you call me tonight?”

“Do we have to do this now, I’m exhausted.”

Eddie took a deep breath. If it were any other time, he would have stopped, nodded, and given Stan some space. But, it was too late for that now.

“I just want to know you’re okay. I want to know if something’s happened, if anything’s happened. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, I’m here to listen, and to give advice and all that.”

“Right,” said Stan, almost stiffly.

“Because we’re friends,” added Eddie.

“I got it.”

Eddie watched as a nurse jogged out of Patricia’s room, fetching a doctor at the end of the hallway. Her sneakers squeaked against the linoleum. A phone rang in the distance, echoing. The hospital seemed to be truly waking up, slowly but steadily. Eddie could hear an ambulance arriving in the distance. The nurse and doctor walked at a clipped pace, whispering to each other, taking turns to glance at Stan waiting patiently outside. He began to jitter his knee up and down, anxious. The doctor hesitated at the door, wanting to say something to Stan before, he decided against it, and the duo went inside.

Stan swore under his breath.

“I don’t,” Stan started, faint as a whisper, “I don’t think I’m going to be a good dad.”

The statement hung in the air for a moment. Eddie had half the mind to immediately overwhelm Stan with encouraging statements, that there was no way that was going to be the case, that he was one of the most kind, most generous figures to have ever walked the earth, that everything was going to be okay. But, he hesitated, taking a hesitant breath.

“Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Stan paused for a moment, thinking over his words carefully, “I’ve been fine, honest. I’ve been prepared, with all the research on what to bring, what to do. Pat and I painted the kid’s bedroom, did all that nesting stuff, all the pregnancy classes. But, now Pat’s in there screaming her lungs out, and we’re going to have an influenceable person. A fully formed person on our hands. It’s something else entirely.

“Pat’s in there doing all the work, and I should be coaching her along but, all I can think of is everything that could go wrong. I could say the wrong thing and our kid, they could grow up and have so much trauma, they could be afraid to tell me things because they think I wouldn’t understand. They could be afraid to tell me things because they don’t trust me.”

Stan sat upright, his voice a raspy whisper. He didn’t turn to look at Eddie, almost as though if he did, the moment would be broken. He wouldn’t be able to place his heart out on the metaphorical table for Eddie to see.

“I keep thinking of my own Dad. We never got along, we were just so different. He wanted something from me that I could never give him. I hid things, I would disappear from the house for days and it felt like he didn’t even notice. I hadn’t even spoken to him for years when he died, and it makes me feel like,” Stan’s voice cracked slightly, “like shit. I hadn’t even known he was dying, our relationship was in such shambles he hadn’t even bothered to tell me.

“We turn into our parents, if I know anything that’s the case. The thought that I can do that to another person, that I can fuck them up so badly that they would never want to see me again. That I can, and that I would, that it’s in my blood. Oh,” Stan stopped, and Eddie glanced over at him just to see a tear roll down his cheek. Eddie’s heart clenched in his chest.

Without thinking, Eddie reached over and wrapped Stan in a hug. It was an awkward sort of maneuver (both men sitting side by side, tilting awkwardly towards each other, knees pressed together, Stan’s brow pressed into Eddie’s sharp shoulder) but, it was right. Eddie had no words for Stan, he only had actions.

“All I’ve ever known is how to be a son, and not even a good one at that. I’m not ready to be a father.”

It was hard to say how long they sat like that, curled around each other. The doctors didn’t come out to fetch Stan, and it was as though the moment was held in a bubble. Eddie wondered if he had ever told Bill how he was feeling, if he had even realized he was feeling like this before he had rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night. Eddie wondered if had told Patricia, their fingers interwoven, eyes locked, or if he had held it down for her sake, because nothing good would come from telling her. Eddie wondered what  _ he _ should tell Stan, what was right to say.

“I’m not going to promise you that everything is going to be okay,” Eddie said after a long moment. “It’s not going to be perfect. You’re going to fail, and fail again but, you’re not going to mess your child’s whole life because of it. You’ve been teaching at the school for so goddamn long, whenever people come into my class they’re always talking about you, and how inspired they are by what you have to say. You’re so loved, and so respected. You’re such an amazing teacher. The fact that you’re worrying, Stan, is just a sign that you care so much. You’re going to be so much better than your dad, if I can promise anything, it’s that.”

Stan let out a choked, muffled sob, that morphed into a chuckle after a moment.

Slowly, he pulled himself out of the hug, and Eddie watched as he looked up towards the ceiling, eyes all watery, nose all pink. He paused to regulate his breathing, running a hand through his quietly greying hair. He let out a few more breathy chuckles as he pulled himself back together.

“Sorry, I just,” Stan sighed, “I really needed to hear that.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?”

Stan reached over and gently squeezed Eddie’s knee. It was a gentle gesture, completed by the kindness in his tired eyes. It felt as though their whole relationship had changed, they were closer now. Eddie smiled.

“Right. Thank you, Eddie.”

The moment was cut short, however, by one of the nurses bolting out of the room. Stan’s hand jolted, and the man jumped to his feet on impulse. The nurse nodded, they were ready for him finally. Patricia had been stabilized, and he was more than welcome to come in to see the baby. The nurse had barely finished her sentence when Stan pushed past her into the room. 

Eddie sat for a long moment. The hospital was starting to come back to life. Phones were ringing incessantly. The sirens from the ambulances could be heard in the distance. Gurneys rattled as they pushed past. Exhausted medical students, disheveled beyond belief, downed expressos like they were shots of alcohol. Eddie folded Stan’s clothes and tucked it into Eddie’s backpack. It was stuffed, with the container of leftovers, and other small snacking items. It seemed as though the man had been in such a rush he had grabbed only the essentials and nothing else — at least now everything would be together. An overnight kit of sorts.

Eddie got up and walked to the door, looking in through the sliver of glass that resembled a window. The sight within made his heart melt.

Patricia had been stitched back together but, she looked exhausted. Her hair fell about her pillow in wispy curls, a deflated sort of look to them, yet there was a certain glow about her. Stan was sitting on the edge of her bed, cradling an infant wrapped up like a dumpling with tender hands. He looked in awe at the tiny person, eyes wide, dark eyebrows stretched up near his hairline. Every few moments he would dip his head down to kiss Patricia’s forehead, cheek, nose, anything he could get ahold of. Eddie watched as she leaned her head against his arm and closed her eyes. A happy sort of exhaustion. In mere moments, she fell asleep, sweaty forehead pressed against Stan’s arm. Carefully, he held the baby against his chest, and wound an arm around Patricia’s shoulders. Eddie watched as Stan’s delicate fingers drew intricate designs against her temple, drifting in and out of her hairline, like the sea itself. It felt too intimate to look directly, so Eddie looked away, ready to leave.

He only caught Stan out of the corner of his eye, the man himself making a gesture with his head.  _ Come on in _ .

Eddie opened and shut the door as quietly as he could muster. The doctors and nurses alike had done their best to pull the room back into relatively clean working order. Sheets had been changed, no towels lingered in the trash covered in blood, and there were no remnants of any sort of fluid. Eddie found himself grateful — his chances of fainting were considerably lower.

“Hey,” said Stan, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“I should go,” said Eddie, “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your moment. You’re going to remember this for the rest of your life.”

Stan chuckled softly. “Yeah.”

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck. “I put all your shit,” he glanced at the baby, “sorry, uh, stuff — in this backpack. There’s some leftover food in there too if you get hungry, which you probably will. Hospital food sucks, and I stand by that.”

Stan looked down at the little bundle wrapped in cloth in the crook of his arm. A look of endless warmth radiated off his face. “Can you believe that we made her?”

Eddie placed the backpack down in a chair, and stepped forward towards Stan and Patricia on the bed. The closer he stepped, the more he could see of the sleepy face wrapped in a cloth. A tiny person. Her eyes were closed, and she looked perfectly helpless, perfectly beautiful, perfectly perfect. There was even a swoop of Stan’s unruly curly hair peeking out from between the folds of the blanket. The worried lines on Stan’s face were still present but, he seemed more in awe than anything else. Stan was going to be okay.

“She’s beautiful,” said Eddie.

“Taya,” whispered Stan. “I think she’s going to be Taya.”

They stood together for a long moment. The little Taya opened her mouth wide in a tiny yawn, before she shimmied further down into the blanket.

Eddie leaned over, and squeezed Stan’s tense shoulder, before he made his way out of the room. Stan needed a moment alone with his daughter, with his wife, ruminating in the beginnings of a new chapter of his life. He could tell Eddie all about it some other time. 

The drive home was a sleepy one. The sky was just beginning to glow a tender purple, and commuters were just beginning to crowd the roads, sipping coffee from plastic refillable mugs with exhausted expressions. The warm yellow lamps that lined the residential streets back to his apartment glowed in bright spotlights against the concrete. He rolled down his window and the air felt cleaner, fresher. It was almost as though the world was new, almost unborn in a quiet sort of way. It made Eddie smile, it made him want to yell out his window as though he was in an award winning independent movie. 

It was nearly seven when Eddie finally made it back into his apartment. He left a brief message for the school, saying that he wasn’t able to come in that day, and said that Mr Uris wasn’t able either — his wife had just given birth, before slumping onto his bed, fully clothed. It was only when he was starting to drift off that he thought of the strange, broken man, keeled over on the bench out in front of the hospital, and how much he had done. How his few words had truly changed everything. And how Eddie had forgotten to say goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

Stan had been gone for a whole week, and the the board hadn’t managed to find him a replacement.

Every morning, Eddie walked to the corridor of the school he and Stan shared, and was forced to make small-talk with a substitute teacher of varying ability as he was unlocking his classroom door in the morning. Monday was a very young, just out of grad-school woman with an incredibly frumpy sweater. Tuesday was a middle aged man with too much excited energy and a pinky fingernail that was too long and pointy to be inconspicuous. Wednesday was one of the wives of the board members, who handed him a homemade cookie that proved impossible to bite into. Thursday was a little old man that Eddie could already see being walked over by the students. And Friday was a man who had a striking resemblance to Edgar Allan Poe.

Although they hadn’t known each other very well while he was teaching at the school, Eddie was overwhelmed with how much he missed Stan. Quiet Stan, with his almost stern demeanor, who offered him a strict nod in the mornings before he had had his coffee. He put on a front of bitter seriousness, when beneath it lay so much warmth, so much love for what he did. He was the type of teacher to stay after hours with a music related club, to send out emails about scholarships, about opportunities that could help his students succeed, to get ahead in life. Eddie missed him, missed all of him.

Yet, Eddie had hesitated ringing the doorbell at the Uris house Friday evening. From what little Eddie knew about babies, ringing the doorbell would certainly wake the hopefully sleeping child up. He decided to knock instead, and when that didn’t work after a few minutes, he sent Stan a text with perfect grammar announcing his arrival. It was only a few minutes after that that Stan approached the door with heavy footsteps and a muffled yawn (Eddie could see it through the frosted glass of the door).

Stan smiled wistfully when he opened the door. He looked worse for wear, in a sun-faded “class of” t-shirt, and a pair of sweatpants that belonged to Patty. (Eddie could tell because the legs did not even reach Stan’s ankles, and the waistband had been tied several times to hold tight to his thin hips.) What was more, his hair sticking up at odd angles like he had gotten electrocuted.

Bev — when she had arrived on Wednesday night as soon as the Uris family had returned to their home bearing a platter of food like a saintly waitress — had said Stan had been in bad shape but, Eddie hadn’t been expecting this bad. Of course, he had never had a child of his own, so who was he to judge.

“I come bringing gifts,” Eddie said with a quiet smile. He lifted the steaming reusable grocery bag he was carrying. “It’s just a vegan casserole but, it’s something.”

“I’m sure it’s better than something,” Stan laughed, and turned to let Eddie follow him into the house. “Thank you for coming.”

The house was still well put together for a couple who had just had a baby. He spotted Patty on the couch in the living room. The television she was sitting in front of was muted, but it glowed brightly with the pastel colors of a sitcom rerun. She was almost asleep, the baby propped up on her chest, resting. She gave Eddie a quiet wave, and mouthed “thank you”. Stan walked up to the couch and leaned down to kiss her tenderly, causing her to sigh.

Eddie looked away. It felt like something he wasn’t supposed to be seeing: the happiness of two sleepy lovers. With a sort of unspoken language, Stan picked up the baby, and carried her in his arms, as Pat leaned back on the couch to rest. He kissed her forehead once more before he beckoned for Eddie to follow him into the kitchen.

“She’s exhausted,” said Stan, cradling the baby in his arms, “we both are.”

“If you ever need anything, beyond food that is, please know that I’m here, I’m around.”

“Of course,” Stan smiled, “I’m starving, let me trade with you.”

Eddie laughed quietly before he placed the casserole down the counter, and pushed it towards Stan. It was only a moment before he was handed the baby, coached by Stan’s quiet words on what of her tiny, doll-like body he should be keeping note of.

She wriggled sleepily in his arms, and Eddie couldn’t help but smile. One day this tiny person was going to be a fully grown person, with thoughts and concepts and all the scary things that Stan had been worried about when she was born.

“We decided on godparents, Patty and I,” Stan started, a bite of casserole already in his mouth, “Bill and Mike.”

Eddie looked up, a weird pain in his chest. It wasn’t as though he knew Stan very well but, after the moment he had had with him… It was a selfish thought but, he had thought the moment had meant more. Eddie forced himself to swallow his pride. “Have you told them?”

“Not yet, they’re coming by on Sunday with food. We’ll tell them then.”

“They’re never going to shut up about it for the rest of the year.”

Stan laughed, mouth full of casserole. “I know but, that seems more like a you-problem than a me-problem.”

Eddie looked back down at the sleeping baby for a moment as Stan ate, ravenously. It was as though the man hadn’t eaten in years. He had nearly scarfed down a third of the plate before Eddie interrupted him.

“Wait, how long are you going to be gone?”

“I’m not sure yet. The baby, Taya, is stable for now but, there were some complications so, I want to stay as near as possible for the time being. Three months at the least, I’m thinking. We saved up for it, so it shouldn’t be that big a deal.”

“Three months?”

“Why, are you missing me already?”

“Shut up,” Eddie wrinkled his nose. “this week alone has felt like the longest possible period of time, I don’t know how I’m going to survive for that long.”

“Well, if you come with food, you’re always welcome to bother me. Of course, a text beforehand would be appreciated but, after everything you did for me that night? You’re practically family.”

A weird warmth spread in Eddie’s chest. He couldn’t help but grin. Sure, he wasn’t a godparent by any means but, Stan trusted him. Their friendship was blossoming.

“You’re going to wish you hadn’t said that,” said Eddie.

* * *

On Monday morning, Eddie had texted Beverly Marsh to tell her that he was going to be late, and most likely miss the “Weekly Monday Morning Faculty Meeting”. Now, this wasn’t exactly an uncommon event. At least once a month Eddie would send Bev a frantic text message saying that he was ill, or he had slept through his alarm, or he had stayed up too late grading papers because he simply did not want to attend the meeting.

Not that there was anything wrong with the meeting. It was just that it made Eddie want to lose his mind. He loved teaching, loved inspiring the younger generation, and going off on lengths about what he knew best, but he hated the politics of it. There was nothing more unbearable than listening to their principal (“that’s Principal Wise, thank you”) list off complaints from the parents of the PTA, and open it up to the group on how to fix said complaints.

Eddie could only manage to super glue a smile onto his face early in the morning and pretend he was all for certain idiotic suggestions for so many times a month. And Bev got that, more than Ben (who loved the meetings, and loved talking about change), or Mike (who seemed to be more awake than anybody, without coffee Eddie might add, at the ungodly hour the meeting was held at), or Bill (who had gotten very skilled at talking to Principal Wise — who they all despised).

But, at this particular meeting, it was clear he had missed something important because Bev was waiting for him in his classroom when he arrived. She was swinging her legs back and forth on his desk as she waited for him, permanently caffeinated in a way that he would never be. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

She looked like she was about to launch herself into speaking but, he held a finger up, and drank the rest of his coffee out of the plastic reusable mug he had brought with him before he let her. Clearly he needed to be awake for this, whatever this was.

“How’d you get in here?” he said, before she could get a word in.

“Picked the lock,” she shrugged. She was always full of surprises.

Beverly Marsh had been full of surprises since they had all met her over ten years ago. She had stepped onto campus in a pastel green turtleneck, a bright red pixie cut, and a mischievous excitement hidden in her eyes. And even ten years later, it seemed that she had never lost any of that. Especially the turtlenecks.

It seemed she had a different turtleneck for every day of the month, a different fashionably tied scarf for every day of the week. Nobody had seen her neck in the ten years she had worked at the school. Eddie had heard some of the students gossip about it. Perhaps she was in a frantic love affair with someone who left hickies on her neck at all hours of the day and night. Perhaps she was ashamed of some birthmark she had that covered the majority of her neck. Perhaps she had had some surgery that encompassed the entirety of her neck, and left scars so terrible she never wanted to share them with the world.

Eddie, however, knew the truth. Bev had a tattoo that wrapped around her neck like the collar of a shirt. It had been fucking painful, she had told him one night, slightly intoxicated, and it wasn’t something she ever wanted to get rid of. It meant something big to her, something never wanted to forget. Something from her past, a past she had never revealed, discussed, or even mentioned over their ten years of friendship. She kept it locked tight, buried away where the sun would never shine. Even that night, she hadn’t shown him what it looked like. None of their teaching friend group had seen it with their own two eyes. So, who was to say she wasn’t lying off the tip of her tongue just for the private excitement of it.

“You might as well tell me what happened at the meeting,” Eddie glanced over at her as he put his things down. “That’s why you’re here, isn't it?”

“It’s like you’re a mind-reader, Kaspbrak,” she said, “they hired a permanent sub for Stan.”

“Yeah?”

“And he’s our age.”

Eddie walked up to the board and began to write down a question in erasable marker for his students to answer when they came into the classroom. “So?”

She stared at him like he didn’t seem to get it.

He frowned back at her over his shoulder. “What?” he continued.

“He’s hot, Eddie. It’s a weird sort of hot but, whatever it is, he’s got it. Even I could see it.”

Eddie turned to look at her. “Well, how was I supposed to know that. I only know what you’re telling me.”

“But you’re a mind-reader, Eds, you should be able to see what I see.”

Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Yeah, right.”

He heard her get up off his desk, jumping down, and walking over to him. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Anyway, that’s all from me. I hope you enjoy that healthy chunk of lesbian solidarity. You should go introduce yourself to him today.”

“Maybe, if I have free time.”

“Eds,” she said, pinching his cheek, “you literally share a wall with him, and you will for the duration of his time here. Go introduce yourself. Today.”

He wrinkled his nose and leaned away from her. It was true, he shared a wall with the music classroom. He had shared a wall with Stan almost since he had started teaching at the school, and they hadn’t been close, simply because of Eddie’s lack in effort. Perhaps this time would be different, and he wouldn’t have to sit with the mystery man in the middle of the night at a hospital in order to gain Stan’s replacement’s trust, friendship, perhaps even his something more.

“Fine, sometime today.”

She let go. “Good.”

And with that, she left without another word, Irish goodbye style. Eddie wouldn’t have her any other way.

* * *

Eddie loved third period.

It was long enough into the day that his coffee had set in, that he had gotten over his mumbling, exhausted brain (that stayed up way too late the night before grading papers), and he was ready to take on the day.

It certainly didn’t hurt that he loved his students. This particular batch being the most inquisitive and insightful he had all day: his advanced placement chemistry kids. He loved how they forced him to halt and wonder over the future of science (reminding him of his college days), about how many new concepts were waiting to be discovered — even if it were just for a moment. They were his favorites (although he would never admit it to anyone, least of all them; the sheer ego boost would be uncontrollable).

This third period had been even more beautiful when Stan had been around. His orchestra’s muffled string instruments, the squeaking trumpets, the rumble of the drums, would begin to waft through the wall, effortless and carefully perfected, adding to the mood. Eddie would watch as the sunlight streamed in through the blinds, dust dancing in the air, the light bright and sharp, cutting perfect rectangles into the floor. And he would look out across a sea of warm, eager faces who were actually eager to learn. It was a perfect moment in his day, he might even go as far as to say it was the highlight.

And this particular Monday was just the same as all the others. Sure, Stan’s music didn’t waft through the wall but, the sunlight streamed perfectly, just as it always did. The students sat in their measured rows, huddled over their individual desks. A small quiz sat on their desks to test them on the reading from the night before, forcing their brows to furrow in concentration.

All was right with the world.

Well, all was almost right with the world, as Eddie heard the very sharp yet unmistakable sound of an amp being plugged in in the room next-door.

A couple of his students looked up, glancing at each other. It was odd, out of place in such a preserved school setting. Yet, nothing was heard from the other room. The silence sat carefully, attempting to preserve the perfect essence of this particular third period, this particular morning. Even the hum of conversation from Stan’s classroom seemed to die down. Eddie wound through the rows of students, his footsteps making sharp clicks against the linoleum, making sure nobody was cheating.

And then he heard it, they all heard it — the screech of someone getting ready to play an electric guitar.

Eddie’s neck snapped to attention, staring at the far wall, the wall he shared with Stan, the wall he had shared with Stan.

One second passed. Then two. Then three. And on the fourth, a sound ripped through the wall that had never been heard in the school since it had been built. Someone had started to play. Someone had started to play _loud_. Someone had started to play, loud, an electric guitar, plugged into an amp. The sound, the music (if you could call it that) seemed to burst through the wall. It was, Eddie thought to himself in a moment of clarity, a miracle that the wall itself hadn’t collapsed onto itself over the sheer volume of the music being played on the other side.

Eddie stood there for a long moment, he couldn’t have possibly said how long, in just pure shock. His mouth was even hanging open slightly. His students were whispering amongst themselves, the quiz forgotten, and he heard one voice ring above the others—

“I shazam-ed it, it’s the guitar solo from _Free Bird_.”

It snapped Eddie into action, his mind red hot with anger. Was this really who they had replaced Stan with? Some lunatic with an electric guitar, blowing out the eardrums of the next generation? Had the school board lost their mind when they hired this, whoever this was? The sheer audacity they had. In a blur of red hot impulse, Eddie found himself marching to the front of his classroom, and yelling for everyone to stay seated. He found himself storming, fists clenched, to Bill’s classroom, dragging both Bill and Mike (who were on their synced up prep periods) to watch his students (Eddie wasn’t an animal), before he furiously started towards Stan’s old classroom.

His knuckles clenched white on the door handle, as he pushed into the music classroom, eyes focused only on the man who had his back to Eddie, playing the guitar in the center of the classroom.

Eddie found himself frozen in the doorway, his hands quickly pressing up against his ears. It was a strange sight. All the students that Eddie could see hadn’t taken their eyes off the man playing the guitar, Stan’s replacement. Each face seemed to be plastered with an identical grin of pure, undisturbed glee. With every note, every precisely executed pluck, their smiles seemed to grow brighter.

The man was slumped over his guitar, rocking back and forth slightly, lost in the music, in the rhythm of the piece he was performing. He didn’t look like a teacher, even though he was dressed in a dark pair of slacks, and a blue button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked like someone pretending to be a teacher, as though he was playing dress-up in real life. His dark hair was thrown forward, dancing and curling with every movement he made. Even from far away Eddie could see the man’s tendons moving, hitting each note with increasing speed and accuracy, all beneath the many intricate tattoos that lined his forearms. However, what struck Eddie the most was the man’s hands: they were wrapped intricately in bandages like those of a boxer. What little Eddie could see of his wrists, his hands, were bruised and battered, tinged yellow and purple in a familiar sort of way.

Without warning, he pulled his foot off the amp, and let the music flow through him. He shook his head about, like a dog attempting to get water out of his fur. He jumped every few seconds but, he gave off an air of someone who had never touched the ground in his life, as though he had been born for this very moment. He raised the neck of the guitar up slightly, before plunging it back down again, and Eddie realized that the students were cheering, barely loud enough to be audible over the guitar.

Eddie took a step into the room, uncovering his ears, squinting instead at the volume. He had to admit it, despite how unbearable the frequency of sound, it was clear that this man was more than good at playing the guitar, he was excellent at it. Not that Eddie thought he’d ever tell the man so. He stepped towards the performer, a speech on sound and what it meant to be a teacher already on the tip of his tongue. And then the man turned to face him.

Eddie recognized him immediately.

The man’s face was unmistakable. It now had an air of confidence, a smug smirk, to replace the weathered, fragile, broken husk of a man who hadn’t even been able to light a cigarette. But, it was still him. He had gotten a new pair of glasses to replaced the shattered old ones but, it was still him. It was still that same man who Eddie had seen the night that Stan’s daughter was born. The man grinned at him, with an almost malicious sort of charm, and began to slowly, carefully, jump towards Eddie on every other beat of the song. His fingers worked the notes so intricately, it was as though his hands were nothing but a blur. His eyes, dark and almost dangerous seeming, weren’t focused on the guitar. No, they were focused on Eddie.

Eddie found himself frozen, the words so compacted together fizzled out on his tongue. He stepped backwards, away from the man, as he stepped forwards. It was like a dance, with every jump, Eddie would step backwards. The notes strung closer and closer together as the man approached. He looked tired but, in a cool sort of way, it was hard to describe. Eddie hoped his eyes weren't as wide as he had a feeling they were, he hoped his cheeks weren’t slightly flushed from unexpected closeness. The man winked, before he turned back to the class, and finished the song. There was a crackle of feedback that cut through the air, a beat of silence, before the class erupted in applause.

The man turned back to the class, and took an over-the-top bow, his unruly hair flopping downwards. Someone in the back of the class was whistling as though they were at an actual concert, and Eddie pressed a hand to his chest in an attempt to pull himself back together.

“So, I guess the answer is yes,” the man said, taking the guitar off his body. “It doesn’t have to be so orderly and precise — music can be fun.”

“Are we going to be learning something like that?” asked one of the students, wide eyed.

“It depends,” the teacher shrugged, and in that moment he looked no older than the rest of them in spirit, a teenager in an adult’s body, “do you think you have it in you?”

Eddie cleared his throat.

The man turned to look at him, flashing a smile — without a hint of recognition. Eddie didn’t think this punk teacher remembered him from that night at the hospital. “Oh, right, we have a guest. Hello guest.”

“It’s Mr Kaspbrak,” chimed in one of the students quietly. The whole class seemed to pause, breath held, to see what would happen. Eddie had a temper, and it seemed this strange new teacher was about to be on the other end of it.

“May I speak with you outside please,” Eddie said, with an air of prepared coldness. “Mister?”

“Tozier.”

“Mr Tozier,” Eddie opened Stan’s classroom door and propped it open with his foot, “after you.”

Eddie watched as Mr Tozier flashed the class with a mock-panicked look, before he stepped out of the classroom. Eddie rolled his eyes, before stepping out to join him, shutting the door behind them with a slam. Eddie paused for only a moment, collecting himself, before he launched into his argument.

“Do you realize how much noise you were making just now? We don’t work at a concert venue, or a club — we work at a school. With students. With people, like myself, trying to provide an education for the next generation. The fact that you even thought it was a good idea to play an electric _fucking_ guitar in the middle of the day, in front of the students, thinking there will be no consequences for your actions. I find it insane that they hired you here in the first place, and to replace Stan of all people. If Stan knew what tom- _fuckery_ you were letting loose in his classroom he’d have a fit.”

“I take it you’re Beverly’s friend,” Tozier said, “the one who missed the meeting this morning?”

“What?”

“Sorry, it’s just that I don’t think I met you earlier, I would’ve remembered you,” Tozier smiled, extending a hand for Eddie to shake, “I’m Richie.”

As soon as the name left his lips, Eddie noticed that Richie made a strange, pinched face, as though he hadn’t expected ‘Richie’ to come out when he introduced himself. Eddie frowned, and shook his hand.

“Edward Kaspbrak.”

“I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances, Eds,” Richie shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “you don’t mind if I call you Eds, do you? What about Eddie? Edward seems a bit formal.”

“It’s my name.”

Richie shrugged. “I’ll alternate, then. Eds, Eddie,” he paused, and gave a pretend shiver, “ _Edward_.”

“You can call me whatever the hell you want to,” Eddie said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “just as long as you never play the electric guitar on school grounds ever again.”

“You have a deal,” Richie made a move towards the door, opening it as though he was about to step back inside, before he stopped, and turned back to Eddie, “You’re not going to tell our boss?”

“Wise? Oh god no, I hate interacting with that man even more than I hate your rendition of Free Bird coming through my wall.”

Richie barked out a laugh, throwing his head back and letting his waves of hair jostle about. Eddie was struck by how different this Richie Tozier was in comparison with the one he had met that night at the hospital. If he didn’t know any better, if he didn’t have a pair of working eyes, he would’ve said that they were two entirely different people. It was odd, however, that the man in question didn’t remember him.

Richie turned to go back to his class, and Eddie acted on impulse:

“Wait, this is a bit of a weird question but, were you at the hospital a couple weeks ago?”

Richie froze in the doorway for a half a second, before he turned, his face paler than it had been previously. He gave Eddie a charming smile that was almost, nearly convincing, if not for the fact that it didn’t meet the strange, unreadable look in his eyes.

“No, I wasn’t,” he said.

“Oh, okay,” Eddie nodded, turning to leave. “Have a good rest of your day.”

And as he walked away, he cringed internally. He really did not have to wish that man a good day.

* * *

Unfortunately, the rest of the week, for Eddie, became a cycle of irritation. Richie Tozier, in all his glory, stuck to his word of not playing his electric guitar in his classroom but, instead of the gentle classical music Stan had been set on, Richie had begun to teach his students the _Star Wars_ theme. This would have been fine, as it was a beautifully composed tune (if one did not think of the _Star Wars_ series attached to it) but, the very fact that it was a recognizable piece of music took the focus levels of his class from one hundred percent, smack down to zero.

The previously most organized, Hermione-esque students in Eddie’s class were reduced to bumbling Darth Vader quotes (“Luke, I am your father”), or making irritating buzzing noises with their mouths to recreate that of a lightsaber — even going as far as to do battle with their rulers. Now, Eddie had been a fan of _Star Wars_ as a child, everyone he knew had been but, not even his childhood love of the franchise could save him from his endless frustration over the man that was Richie Tozier.

It certainly didn’t help that Beverly Marsh (being the traitor that she was) had been quite taken with Richie from the moment she met him, and proceeded to spend her lunch hour for the last day and a half cross legged on Richie’s desk, telling him anecdotes about her life while he made her laugh. (Eddie had seen it through the sliver of glass in Tozier’s classroom door, to much distain. She looked like she was having a good time.) The irritation grew, with the realization that Eddie had lost his co-complainer. He couldn’t bond over complaining about the enemy if his fellow complainer thought the enemy was a friend.

(“You should give him a chance, really, come to his room for lunch one day and you’ll see,” Bev had said after work on the second day, shoving a box full of papers into the trunk of her car, “I think you two have a lot in common.”

“Like what?” Eddie had asked, arms crossed tightly.

“Why don’t you talk to him and find out?”

She turned and grinned, and for a moment, her hair glowed impossibly bright in the light of the setting sun. If he wasn’t so angry at their conversation, he would’ve told her how beautiful she looked. Or taken a picture with his overly expensive cellphone. But, he was too angry to do both of those things.

Instead, Eddie scoffed and looked away towards the rumpled form of Richie Tozier unlocking his rickety-looking bike from the cobwebby stand tucked away by the gym. The shaggy head of dark hair didn’t look over at the two of them. “I already spoke to him. Once. I don’t ever want to do it again.”

“Your loss, Kaspbrak,” Bev shrugged, slamming the trunk of her car shut. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Unstoppable force versus immovable object, round two. No winner.)

And so, Marsh-less and alone, he was forced to turn to being a third wheel to the only married couple on campus.

Eddie slammed his lunch down on Bill Denbrough’s desk half way through the third day of Richie being present on campus, causing both Bill himself, and Mike Hanlon to jump. It was a prepped thermos of last night’s dinner (pasta with pesto, with sautéed vegetables on top), but with the force that he smacked it against the table, it could’ve easily been his very own zombie apocalypse weapon.

“J-J-Jesus Christ,” Bill said, clutching at his chest. Both men had been huddled at Bill’s desk, and hadn’t heard (or seen) Eddie arrive.

Eddie dragged a desk over from the closest row, until he was both in Bill and Mike’s personal space. He sat down in a heap, face practically twitching with frustration.

“What happened now?” Mike said, a gentle smile gracing his features. He had always been the more patient one of the couple, that and he had done a double major in psychology in his undergrad years — a fact that Eddie knew Bill thought it was, to quote the man (while he was slightly intoxicated at his wedding) himself, “really _fucking_ hot” when he pulled his “psychology voice” out of nowhere. It was clear that notion hadn’t changed, as Bill cleared his throat and looked away.

Eddie inhaled loudly, before exhaling slowly. “Sorry for interrupting your lunch date but, Richie’s absolutely unbearable and if I don’t talk to someone about it, I’m afraid I’ll scream at one of my students. I just can’t stand it.”

Bill gave Mike a look, the type of look that only people who have known each other all their lives can give. Mike smiled in response. It was always difficult to spend time with them alone. Not that Eddie had anything against his happily married friends, not even when he had first met them. He had had nothing against them when they had flirted relentlessly with each other during meetings, when they had started seeing each other in secret, and finally when they had gotten married. It was just that their relationship was to the point of perfection that made Eddie feel as though — every time he laid eyes on the two of them comfortably sharing the same space — he was going to die alone.

“Richie?” Bill raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, Tozier. Stan's replacement.”

“Why do you call him that?” Mike leaned his elbow against the desk, resting his chin against his hand. “He introduced himself as Rich, or Richard. Richie was never on the table.”

“Well, he introduced himself to me as Richie,” Eddie frowned.

Mike gave Bill another one of those knowing looks. It was cute on the surface but, it made Eddie want to tear his hair out. There was nothing worse than talking to two people who were so close that they could communicate nonverbally.

“Anyway, that doesn’t matter, what matters is the fact that I met him before this,” Eddie grimaced, as the married couple gave each other another one of those looks, “please, fucking stop doing that, okay? It makes me feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Sorry,” Bill said.

“We’re listening,” Mike nodded.

“Okay,” Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose. “I met him, you know? Before this. I went to see Stan at the hospital when Patty was giving birth, and he was there. I swear to god he was there. We had a full, like, five, ten minute conversation, and now he’s acting as though we’ve never met. I can see it in his eyes, he recognizes me, I can fucking see it.”

“What was he doing at the hospital?” Mike’s brow furrowed, concerned.

“Fuck if I know, but he looked like he had just walked out of hell itself. Winona Ryder _Heathers_ style, blood and cigarette and everything.”

“And you’re sure it was him?” Bill leaned backwards in his chair. “You’re absolutely sure.”

“Of course,” Eddie said, “every time he looks at me he’s got this guilty look on his face, as though he’s waiting for me to say something.”

“Have you?”

“Yeah, and he lied. That’s why he’s avoiding me now,” said Eddie. They didn’t have to know that Eddie had been avoiding Richie back, despite Bev’s advice. Between the _Star Wars_ score, and mediocre first impression that he had made, Eddie was afraid that he and Richie were going to speak a second time and immediately throttle each other, and a fight to the death was going to ensue. “Have you two heard anything?”

“I don’t think so, I really haven’t thought about it,” Bill sighed, “I think he’s been quiet since he c-c-came here.”

“Quiet in the sense of his past, not his volume,” Mike cut in, looking at Eddie’s pink face, ready to burst with complaints and vulgarities alike. “I believe he talks a lot to cover up the fact that he hasn’t told you anything about himself, or at least that’s what I noticed.”

Bill and Mike paused, and glanced at each other, their secret conversation continuing. It was a brows furrowed, serious kind of look. Yet, there seemed to be a hint of kindness to it. Bill’s eyes seemed to soften in a way that never happened with anyone else. He looked younger. Mike took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, a warmth radiating from his smile, his gaze, his heart.

Eddie groaned internally, and looked down at his meal. Anything to not be looking at his friends as they swooned over each other. He frowned at his Tupperware, realizing with a jolt that he had forgotten his cutlery in his car. (It was an incredibly useful set of utensils: a spoon, fork, and knife handily wrapped together in a pocket of cloth he had sewn together himself. He brought it with him everywhere, telling his friends it was better for the environment, when in reality he just didn’t like the concept of using strange, possibly disease ridden cutlery that had touched who knows how many mouths. Especially Principal Wise’s.) He glanced at his friends; it seemed nothing was going to get done regarding the Richie Tozier situation any time soon.

So, without prompting, he got up, and left the classroom, in search of his utensils, missing perhaps the most important words Bill Denbrough uttered that whole day:

“I know what we have to do, Mike,” said Bill, answering the unspoken question Mike had asked with the raise of his eyebrows, “we have to invite Richie Tozier to our thanksgiving.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be both gay and dealing with various traumas. Please let me know what you think! :)


End file.
